


Scraping (by)

by zrch4



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Instantly Post-Reichenbach, M/M, Mentioned Mycroft Holmes, Post-Reichenbach, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28047882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zrch4/pseuds/zrch4
Summary: Sebastian Moran, scraping the meat off the floor.*originally posted in Chinese, translated into English by myself*rated M for the gore
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty
Kudos: 3





	Scraping (by)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Scraping (by)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28046277) by [zrch4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zrch4/pseuds/zrch4). 



> i speak broken english cuz here in china we have shitty english education, so sorry for all english speakers. thank you, auto-correction, thank you.
> 
> *unbetaed

It was eight to nine degrees, afternoon, Square Mile. Sebastian Moran took the kit bag and went to Barts.

He didn't care much about the pool of people and blood in front of the building. He never cared about the guy who used to possess the blood (lying). What he cared about was his boss assigning him with orders: _Rooftop, Barts, clean me up._ He remembered that after the sentence it was love and weird intimacy, one of the nicknames he had always hated: 'Bastian-baybay. The vowels are pulled like syrup, and the consonant T's tongue position is particularly forward, it was subtle.

Fuck alliteration, he thought.

He had been to Barts a number of times, usually for A&E, and he was very familiar with its structure and everything. But he had never been to the rooftop of Barts. It was like one day, being in the army, suddenly you saw the back of the head of the guy who was always behind you in the line - he had the back of his head, of course, but you never thought of it.

A little surprised, a little ridiculous.

(His boss told him: It would be ugly. You'll weep.) He walked up the last step of stairs, facing the double door leading to the rooftop, and he had intended not to bother to look through the square glass of the door, but instinct told him to assess the situation: what on other roofs, potential ambushes, perhaps some Mycroft Holmes’ men, so he looked through. He saw no danger, also no man lying on his back, no blood, no brain tissue everywhere. The view here is too narrow. For one moment he had a strange feeling that maybe the man wasn't there anymore, he fled. Was it another of his games, another joke, another trick, to break him? His boss was so happy to break him, and sometimes (most of the time) he was happy to be broken, but this time his boss changed the game rules – he broke himself first, in some way beyond recognition, and it became a non-zero-sum time game, a lose-lose game, right?

He quickly dismissed the idea, fairly certain that the bastard was dead, certain that the little wicked man would not suddenly spring up from the darkness and call out: Ha! Ha! I'm still alive. Didya mourn for me? The reason why he was so sure was, first of all, that he brought a scraper and a pair of tweezers, which had their use here, and that if he had brought a scraper and a pair of tweezers he definitely would have used them; second, James Moriarty assured him that he would be dead, and ugly. He was willing to believe that pledge because James Moriarty had never spoken like a man, a dying man, human, and he knew more about his self-destruction desire than the dying man, because, well, it's interesting, he loved him. He was even sure that his life was not about him, interestingly enough, but about him. That bastard, that little wicked man. That man.

He finally opened the door.The convection current drums in, appearing of lack of strength. He stepped out. The white spring sun drops short cramped bright lines. [The phrase "spring sun" sounds almost like death itself, even more so than death. (Death, after all, is big and white. It's extremely empty. It’s circular or strip-like. A road.) ]Ah, yes, there lay the man!

His boss had half his head blown off, most part of his forehead was oddly recessed, and there was a shredded eye. It's a pity, he thought, I kissed such a pretty face before, and he had such pretty black eyes, as he put down the bag he was carrying and unzipped it. There was a large pool of dark, brilliant blood, gray matter and white matter and spinal fluid mixed inside, and the bits of bone that were not stained with blood, small and white and glinting. James Moriarty, or some potentially deadly biohazard, was scattered around.

He took the body bag out from his kit. He once considered disposing the dead body directly on the roof, but it could be too dangerous. He didn't really want to part his body. It was a dirty job that would only add to his troubles and burdens a lot. That meant he had to get his boss down from the top of the fourth floor in one piece, which was not difficult, because it was a hospital, and there were a lot of dead people in a hospital. All he had to do was to carry Jim down to the fourth floor, get a cot with rollers, then go down from the freight elevator, there will be a funeral van was waiting at the back door. All the people were dealing with the trouble caused by the curly-haired kiddo, no one would notice them. He even smiled at the thought that Jim couldn't criticize the way he carried himself. He wore latex gloves.

His technique was excellent because he had done it too many times in Kabul and Mazar-i-Sharif. It was very quiet, no wind, the sun was on but it didn't provide heat, and the surrounding was all white, even the cement floor looked light-coloured, and Jim's skin was white, too. Dark only on his hair, his eyelashes, his one eye, his clothes, his blood, his turned out flesh, he lay quietly over the cloth of the bag. Silence of his was rare. Normally he had been talking and talking, but now he could no longer. Sebastian suddenly noticed that Jim was wearing his socks, so Jim died in his socks, and his stomach was flipping, it’s not a disgusting flip, but a-bunch-of-petite-grey-butterflies-inside one. He took one last look at Jim (it was really, really ugly) and sealed the body bag.

He put the body bag aside and decided to concentrate on the work ahead. He thanked Jim for choosing shooting himself in the mouth than drowning in the water. Although it was difficult to clean up the scene where somebody had blown his head up, it was still much better than dragging for him in the water and trying to figure out where he had been drifted to. People who die after drowning are ugly, too, almost as ugly as those who swallow bullets. They swell up. If people go for the body disposal at once, they will see their whole faces ( which will be eaten down by fish and shrimps later). He did not want to see his face, he did not want to go through his boss's prediction: you’ll weep.

He took out a scraper and a pair of tweezers he prepared earlier, then 3% hydrogen peroxide solution, a small-sized mop, and a forensic evidence bag. Some of the pink meat had already stiffly stuck to the concrete floor, which was what the scraper was for, and he began meticulously transferring the Moriarty crumbs from the floor into plastic bags for his boss, the guy he loved so much. He was not mourning, he was missing the time when the scum were alive and where they were.

The concrete was rough, there was a little tissue embedded into the floor, forming a thin layer of water-red film, Sebastian was being lazy to get these out, anyway, anyway he hae to wash it with hydrogen peroxide solution later, with a mop, and then the meat would be trace, and he believed that Jim would not care about whether what in the coffin of his own was super complete or not, or he had a coffin or not.

Some of the bone dregs couldn't be picked up with the scraper. This was what the tweezers for. He had a strange flashback that two years earlier he had been at a motel in Monaco, using similar tweezers to pick out real diamonds from the broken glass under a lamp on a small coffee table. Jim was sitting on the couch and smoking then said happily, "We've got Diamonds Sebby, let's get married." Sebastian shook his head at his boss's childishness. When he pronouced those Ds his tongue position was also particularly forward.

His legs began to go numb, so he sat down on the ground. He had lost weight, and the sharp ends of his femur stung him a little. His eyesight was very good, he was a sniper, his hands were also very steady, but he still dropped the broken bones twice. He remembered that the fragments had once been part of his skull, and that they had once encrusted and protected his precious, splendid brain. What did those bits of debris know? No one except Jim Moriarty knows what was inside his head.

When the using of tweezers was over, he stood up and admired his work. Now he has got a little bag of Jim Moriarty. That was funny. He pinched the seal tight and dropped the bag into the bag along with the tweezers.

Now all that was left on the ground was dried blood, a lot of dried blood.

The easiest way to remove blood stains is to use a solution of hydrogen peroxide, 3 percent hydrogen peroxide that can be found in any supermarket anywhere. Sebastian took the gray spray bottle out of his bag, swish-swish, swish-swish, he presses the nozzle six times. Then, to make the reaction efffect better, he took the mop and smoothed the liquid flat to the ground, and it frothed up a little.

Then you have to wait 15 minutes for the hydrogen peroxide to do its job. Sebastian suddenly felt that his boss was a miserable wretch. He decided never to return to the apartment they once shared. In fact, he was calling a professional arsonist on his cell phone to set fire to the place where he and the man in the gray bag next to him kissed, had sex and murdered each other. He decided that the place they shared should no longer exist. Which is a pity, because he was in such a hurry that he didn't notice that the multi-coloured letter-shaped magnets on the refrigerator were arranged like this:

TRULY SORRY

JM

XX

He at least apologized.

**Author's Note:**

> pointing out mistakes and mis-usage or bad choices of words are welcomed!!!! -zr


End file.
